


Mirror Mirror

by DredgenTrust



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Deepthroating, M/M, PWP, Rough Oral Sex, Self-cest, does this qualify for the 'masturbation' tag? Probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DredgenTrust/pseuds/DredgenTrust
Summary: "#1315 has harnessed his "banks" to what appears to be an engine of pure potential. He no longer needs to pilfer the Ascendant Plane of Primevals, the oldest Taken in residence. He can create Primeval-likes from the energy of "the haul" and sheer force of will. As to the apparent presence of #2015, it is a falsehood. My handlers in the Praxic Order surmise simply: the shape of Oryx was the scariest Hive he could think of. He's tenacious, but he has a small mind."— Praxic Warlock Aunor MahalOr: Drifter gets a little 'me' time





	Mirror Mirror

White, stretching endlessly out on all sides. Something that could pass for sand or dirt if you didn’t look too close crunched underfoot. The texture was all wrong, like it couldn’t decide how solid it wanted to be and kept shifting between states. Compact, loose. Compact, loose. Compact–

Drifter glared at the floor, and it hastily turned stone-like and smooth. Solid.

The air tasted wrong, and the shadows were nowhere near the right angle for the position of the ‘sun’ overhead.

He’d cope.

Gloved hands flexed at Drifter’s sides for a moment. The dry air wasn’t quite comfortable. No moisture, which in his experience rarely meant good things. Even if he knew, intellectually, that he could just make some if needed. Could even recapture what he’d lost in this place, pull it back out of the atmosphere. Faster he was done though, the faster he could get back to more hospitable climes. So. He pulled up one of the likenesses he liked to pit the guardians up against, willed it into being for inspection.

The last one had acted out. Hadn’t followed the normal routine, hadn’t even tried to summon its ogres. That wasn’t how that fight was meant to go. The constructs had a limited intelligence, sure, ensuring a little randomness so the whole thing didn’t get too stale. There was still a pattern though, each likeness had the same set of abilities to throw at the guardians. Things were standardised; a predictable enough AI reacting more or less the same way each time to the same threat. So, why hadn’t the last one?

Pity he didn’t have it with him. It had been defective though, and the challengers hadn’t let the opportunity for easy loot pass them by. Killed it easily, quickly. Corpses didn’t stay, so he was stuck trying to puzzle it out alone.

Grimacing to himself, the likeness was dismissed. Another gesture pulled up something simpler; a thrall, crouching and chittering in that way they liked to do when there was nothing to kill. Tilting its head this way and that, looking around the vast and empty plane for any threats, eyeless ‘gaze’ passing through him as though he weren’t there.

A little more focus, a little more work. A fairly generic hunter formed up. Not a real one of course, just a pretty simple model. Likely some plain enough face behind the smooth black of the helmet. If it even had one. It went for its gun, and the thrall leapt at it with a screech.

Gunshots, ripping noises, and he dismissed them both. Ok. So. The more basic AI functions still worked. Things tagged as ‘_other_’ would still be recognised as enemies and treated accordingly.

A knight next. Placing the muzzle of malfeasance to its side, he shot into it a couple times; it roared in pain. Pulled up its shield, began to heal itself. Non-combative methods were functional too. The likeness _should_ have summoned those ogres. It was just another component of the arsenal, certain triggers with certain reactions. He didn’t like when things didn’t go how he planned them. He was running this show, after all.

Could be the complexity of response. He sighed, wracked his brain. Didn’t want or need to get into a fight with any of his creations. Most likely his own subconscious would prevent them from functioning right, regardless. If they were threatening him, at least. So, either he tested this with the aid of an outside party – unlikely – or he figured out another method of testing.

His face twisted a little, part amusement and part distaste. The hunter returned. More complex this time, armour better defined. Less of a hunter shaped thing, more of an actual being. It shifted a little, looked him up and down. A hand came to rest on the grip of its hand-cannon.

Didn’t take long to realise that he knew which face would be behind _this_ helmet. Willed the damn thing away to check.

Oh, but that was disconcerting. Faces he knew well but not _quite_ perfectly posed a problem. A real problem. Came out looking just slightly off, and his subconscious knew it wasn’t right. Knew it _could_ make it right, so it kept trying. Eyes changed shape beneath his gaze, just a little. Mouth, nose, the bones beneath the face all smearing and reshaping. Trying to make things look right, caught up in Drifter’s own fascinated horror instead. Worsening until it was less of a face and more the idea of one.

He shuddered, and the Shin-copy crumbled into the sand.

Ok, a shape that he knew _perfectly_.

Well, there. That would do it. He stood before himself, even if the copy wasn’t quite right. Mirrored, that was it. He’d made it the way he saw himself. Well, that wasn’t a problem.

So, testing the more complex functions. This was him, so it should react more or less _like_ him. Well, minus the fact that it didn’t read him as a threat. Didn’t need to worry about getting a bullet in the head from something wearing his face.

Drifter reached out, curled a finger beneath the copy’s chin. Tilted it up. It jerked it back down with a frown, took a step away.

He tutted. “Oh, I don’t think so.” Fingers came around the back of its neck, gripping tight and pulling it in. His thumb came to rest on its throat, light enough for now. It swallowed, and the skin went a little warm beneath his fingers.

Yeah, that was right. Complex reactions.

Squeezing a little, feeling the flesh give _just_ right, he leaned in close. Knew how to rile himself up, obviously, which meant that he expected the things he did to work. Which, in turn, ensured that they did. Handy, that. Eyes tracked his, the blue giving way to darkness, and a tongue flicked out to moisten its lips.

Teeth scraped along its jaw, fingers flexed against its throat, and the copy’s hands came up to tug insistently on Drifter coat. Pulling on the cord around his neck, trying to get a little leverage on him. A wordless demand. He bit down on the copy’s ear, felt it flinch and let go, heard it _gasp_.

It glared up at him, and he grinned.

As far as experimental research went, there was a definite something to be said for today’s workload. For knocking himself down to his knees, pulling the copy’s own pendant tight around its neck until it struggled for breath, until those lips parted enough that he could wrap them around his cock.

A groan, rapidly choked off as the cord was pulled tight again.

Its mouth was… well, it was a mouth. Hot and wet, and when it sucked and hollowed, swallowing around the length of him, it all _felt_ how it should. The movements were a little generic, but then that was likely his own fault. Without putting much thought into it, he’d get something pretty standardised. Really, if he’d wanted better then he should have expected more of himself.

Watching the copy’s eyes water though, seeing how it gasped for breath every time he pulled out and relaxed the pressure on its neck… well, he had to say he looked pretty good like this. Made one hell of a pretty picture kneeling and under control. It looked up at him, eyes wet, shuddering a little with lack of breath, and he narrowed his eyes. Pressed his way back between red lips, hand on the back of its head. It didn’t gag, even when its nose was pressed up against his shirt, even when it couldn’t breathe at all for how filled its throat was.

It didn’t _need_ to breathe of course. Drifter couldn’t be bothered to make it that lifelike. But it thought it did, and it looked about right when it couldn’t so it was more or less the same thing.

He pulled it off, wrapped his hand back around the pendant to pull it tight. Pressed the construct down to the floor with one hand against its chest, until it was on its back and staring helplessly up at him. Its face still tense, though definitely messier, caught somewhere between want and annoyance. Its chin jerked, jaw set, hands braced against the floor. As if Drifter didn’t have it pinned and at his mercy.

Settling between its thighs, he spread them easily enough. It didn’t need clothes, so with a thought it no longer had them. Another twitch in its face, eyes intent and wary until Drifter wrapped his fingers around its hardness, pulling and teasing and spreading precum along the length of it. Then it was busy twitching and groaning, trying not to just fuck up into his hand. He let go, pulled the cord tight, heard it _whine_ and shake. Good.

More focus, willing things into existence as he needed them. It took a little more thought to ensure that the lubricant provided was imagined in sufficient detail as to be made of something body-safe. For his own sake admittedly, rather than that of the construct. Once his fingers were slicked up it opened easily enough, breath coming harsher and scarcer as it moved just right against him. All desperate for air it didn’t need, squirming with fingers working inside it, stretching it over and over until it was almost insensate.

He pulled out, relaxed the cord to let it breathe. It wasn’t actively crying, but it was close. He hadn’t known they could do that. Almost threw him off for a moment, the way it almost looked like there were thoughts and feelings in there. Admittedly it wasn’t so much out of pity; more that Drifter didn’t trust anything that could think like him for a second. Frankly, it was amazing that anyone was willing to put their dick in him at all, but then everyone was entitled to their own poor judgement. Still, if this was more him than he’d thought–

It pushed up against him, demanding, and he decided not to worry about it too hard. Pressed his way inside, enjoying how it felt against him as he fucked it. Tight, hot, just this side of under-slicked so the insides clung and dragged. He wondered, idly, how accurate he’d been in the imagining. If its body was at all accurate, if there were organs in there besides the two holes he’d been thinking of when it was made. Would cutting it open let him see real bone and meat? Or would it spill that same white sand all over instead of blood?

Most likely, it’d become real inside the moment he cut it. His own mind filling gaps as it went.

Well, no matter. It felt good, and it made all the right noises, and when he came inside it the body went all still and desperate, going even tighter around him as he groaned.

It was pointless, of course, but he still got it off before pulling out. Let it moan and shake and spill over its own stomach, feeling it happen from where he was still seated inside it. When he pulled out it made a low noise of loss, looking up at him with those dark and hazy eyes.

Really, he should’ve put a bullet in it somewhere nonvital. Check how it reacted, if it was handling pain right. Its attempts to keep itself alive.

Even he couldn’t be bothered to sit and watch something with his face bleed out slow though, so it was a bullet to the chest. It choked wetly, blood bubbling up in the back of its throat. Made all the usual noises and movements as it died, eyes wide and body jerking weakly.

For a long moment, Drifter looked down at himself. Blood on his teeth, face slack and pale, naked body all twisted up in hurt and desperation. His cock gave a half-hearted twitch, and he huffed a laugh.

“Rather you than me,” he said aloud, dismissing the remains without a thought.

No closer to finding answers, for all his _investigation_ of the matter. That was what you got from mixing business and pleasure, he supposed.

Time he got the hell out of here. Place could make a man a little strange after a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Is it technically canon that Drifter can just will into being _any_ creature he likes? No. Is there enough canon basis for it that I want to play in this space? Hell yeah. Could I think of any other situation in which Drifter would be able to fuck himself without immediately shooting the other him out of pure paranoia? Also no.
> 
> And so, here we are.


End file.
